


The Parking Permit

by SparkleInTheStars



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Dining at the Ritz (Good Omens), First Kiss, Fluff, Happy Ending, Implied Sexual Content, Innuendo, M/M, Old-Fashioned, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 04:17:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19899715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkleInTheStars/pseuds/SparkleInTheStars
Summary: Inspired by Michael Sheen'stweetregarding Crowley parking his Bentley in Aziraphale's garage.During their dinner at the Ritz, Aziraphale proposes taking their relationship to the next level, but his archaic innuendos are confusing Crowley.  Frustrated Aziraphale continues until Crowley grasps his meaning.





	The Parking Permit

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Michael Sheen's [tweet](https://twitter.com/michaelsheen/status/1150563780167970816?s=12) regarding Crowley parking his Bentley in Aziraphale's garage.
> 
> It was such a delightfully naughty yet tasteful way to imply the intimate nature of the Ineffable Husbands relationship and made me think of how a character who uses terms like Tickety-Boo might express their desires. So an idea took root and I started researching archaic innuendos, leaving out the overly descriptive ones like Rumpy Pumpy that might have clued Crowley in sooner.
> 
> Many thanks to exspecialagentstarling, my Beta!

Their lunch at the Ritz had a celebratory air as they drank champagne. Crowley felt it had been a success until they reached the dessert course. That was when Aziraphale had started acting strangely. Not that the angel was ever normal per se, but then neither was he and he was used to his friend's quirks. When they dined together, there was a certain pattern and ritual to it. Dessert was something his companion relished but today he was poking at his dessert, staring at it, then looking at the demon and making weird comments.

Crowley wasn't sure what he was supposed to say, but clearly he wasn't giving the right answers because Aziraphale would then poke at the rapidly crumbling cake and say something else.

"Would you like a night cap?"

He struggled to answer. It was half past four and given the increasingly bizarre comments Aziraphale was offering, he wasn't sure if he meant a drink but it made a bit more sense than a Victorian sleeping garment.

"I'm always up for a drink," Crowley replied. "Bit early for a night cap though."

Aziraphale stabbed the pile of cake crumbs and the fork clinked against the china. He looked serious for a moment, then proposed, "Tea and crumpets then?"

"Not very hungry. It's nearly tea time here, would you like me to order you some crumpets?"

"Only if you butter my crumpet for me," Aziraphale muttered under his breath.

Crowley hadn't heard the soft comment. "What was that?"

"None for me. We could play BACKgammon," the angel suggested with an eager expression as he emphasized the first part of the word backgammon heavily.

Crowley drained his glass and signaled the waiter for another. In 6000 years of friendship they'd been to every opera and symphony ever written, seen every great and not so great play, and viewed every wonder the world had to offer. Now that they had saved the world, was Aziraphale seriously proposing they celebrate with a board game?

"I sssuppossse?"

"Hibbity Dibbity," Aziraphale said with a hopeful expression.

Was that a Victorian card game? Crowley had slept through a lot of the 1800's when they'd had a falling out; save getting up to scare Oscar Wilde away from his angel and inspire the author to pen Dorian Grey. Or maybe it was like tickety-boo? Had they drunk more than he realized? The waiter arrived with another bottle of champagne and Crowley had him leave the bottle within his reach. He drained another glass, pushed his untouched cake in front of Aziraphale and gave him a blank smile.

Politely, Aziraphale took a bite, then dabbed his mouth with a napkin. "Scrumping?"

Scrumping? Was that like scrumptious? Wasn't it an old term for stealing apples? Clearly he wanted to tell Crowley something, but wasn't willing or able to articulate it more clearly.

"I'd like to ride a dragon to St. George."

Somehow, he suspected pointing out dragons weren't real wasn't the right approach. So he suggested, "After we leave, let's go to your place and we can maybe sort this all out. I'm not sure exactly what you're talking about, but I'd like to try to understand."

Aziraphale brightened slightly and emptied his champagne flute. Nodding he offered, "You could park your Bentley in my garage."

Did the bookstore have a garage? Crowley tried to recall when he'd been in the narrow back alley behind the store taking out trash once. No, there wasn't any garage. And he doubted the Bentley would fit in such a narrow space anyway. Nice and long, not like modern cars. It would take a demonic miracle to fit his car into Azirphale's- His mind came to a sudden halt.

Crowley took off his sunglasses and stared at Aziraphale. Was he really asking what he thought he was asking?

"You're not referring to my actual car, are you?" The words hung in the air somewhere between a question and a statement.

"Well, erm no. Haven't you been listening to what I've been saying?"

"You were talking about playing backgammon, not the, er, beast with two backs as Shakespeare stole from me." His eyes were wide with shock, the white mostly gone as they gleamed golden with demonic enthusiasm.

"I was trying not to be vulgar," Aziraphale said primly, but his cheeks flushed with pleased embarrassment. "So would you like to park your Bentley in my-"

"Check please!" Crowley exclaimed and stood up. The waiter told him it would be a couple minutes and he shook his head. A snap of his fingers and there was a pile of money on the table that would cover their tab several times over. He forgot his sunglasses as he took Aziraphale's hand and led him outside of the Ritz. His angelic friend made a faint protest but was rushing just as quickly as he was.

When they reached the Bentley, they paused and stared at each other. Crowley wrapped one arm around Aziraphale's waist and brought his free hand up to his cheek. Leaning forward, he kissed him, gently as if unsure if it was real. Then again, deeply as his angel's hands came around him to hold him close.

"I've waited six thousand years for this," Crowley told him softly. "I love you angel."

"I think I waited every bit as long, but I never was able to admit it to myself before now, dearest," Aziraphale sighed tenderly. "I love you, Crowley.”

Several more kisses ensued before Crowley held the door of the Bentley open for his companion and they drove away.

Later that night, without any demonic miracles necessary to their mutual satisfaction and delight, Crowley parked his Bentley in Aziraphale's garage. Twice.


End file.
